Tiptoe Through Torchwood
by Grayswandir
Summary: Dr. Beckett makes a trans-Atlantic leap into Ianto Jones. What happens when the body leaper meets the intergalactic play boy? Janto
1. Leaping In

Title: Tiptoe Through Torchwood

Author: Grayswandir

Fandoms: Torchwood, Quantum Leap

Pairing: Jack/Ianto

Disclaimer: Torchwood is the brainchild of Russell T. Davies. Quantum Leap of Donald Bellisario.

~ JantoLeap ~

Samuel Beckett, doctor, adventurer, time traveler, had learned to cope with many different launches into many different people for a very long time. He had come to accept that leaping in could lead to some very awkward moments for both himself and anyone present at the time. For once, however, he landed himself into an innocuous situation. He stood before a kitchen sink, rinsing a sudsy coffee mug before setting it aside to dry. He could not help but swallow hard before further inspecting himself. Last time he leapt to a kitchen, he was a woman with three children and a dog. The rubber gloves he was wearing didn't bode well for his hopes of being male.

Sam stepped back from the draining dishwater, slowly peeling off the slightly sweaty gloves, bracing himself for the moment of truth. The suds covered gloves unveiled markedly unremarkable digits. Well, ok. They were his hands, after all. He only ever saw his own unless he stood before a mirror. One thing was noticeable from his hands, however, the nails were undecorated. One mark in the possibly male column. No wedding ring in evidence, another plus to this leap. Spouses were the worst part of any leap. The massively devoted were hard to shake and the inattentive were often the root of the problems. Or at least a nearby source.

Sam groaned as he spied what he was wearing. A flowery red apron was looped around his neck and tied around his waist. Resigning himself to yet another stint in womanhood, Sam set down the gloves and slowly unwrapped the apron from his body. Curiously, as he moved about to remove said apron, the long sleeves of a nicely tailored plum dress shirt had been neatly rolled up his arms. A navy blue vest, midnight blue dress slacks, glossy black dress shoes and a rich dark red tie finished off the ensemble.

Okay. Sam was a severely overdressed housemaid, or an extremely screwy individual of the male persuasion. He had difficulties deciding which of the two he preferred. _C'mon, Al, where are you? I need some information._ His silent summon yielded no holographic assistance. _Well, time to explore._

Venturing out from the kitchen, Sam finally noticed the television set was on at a low volume. The program indicated the time to be roughly two in the morning. In disgust, Sam switched it off in favor of further exploration. _Maybe the shock to the leapee's system is delaying Al. Probably think they croaked or something._ Mentally slapping himself for such morbid thoughts, Sam continued his journey about the apartment. A short shelf sat next to the recently deactivated television set. Upon inspection it revealed DVDs, mostly of James Bond films. _Must be really close to my time. Should make this a very easy assignment to work out._

Sam spied a door off to the side that must have been the entrance, if the variety of locks upon it were any indication. Opposite lay another door, this one obviously leading to a bedroom. Noting that he was feeling a bit exhausted, Sam decided that a relocation was definitely in order. _Okay, first time I've leapt in at bedtime._ Flipping on the lights, Sam appreciated that the room was orderly like the rest of the apartment. A double bed with a green bedspread and a well-organized closet; a chest of drawers with a neatly set box full of cufflinks. A simple armchair sat beside the nightstand closest to the closet. _Very nice._ A jaw-cracking yawn precipitated an exhausted groan. _Bathroom, definitely._ Rubbing his neck, Sam entered the en-suite and froze. The faint glow from the bedroom outlined his current body in the mirror. Stepping in, Sam flipped the switch. The reflection was a pleasant surprise. A young man, perhaps mid-20s, with short dark brown hair and a light five-o'clock shadow and light blue eyes stared back. _Confirmed as male. Very good._

Another yawn attempted to dislodge his jaw. _Sleep. Definitely need to sleep._ Resolving to leave the remaining mysteries for a time when he might be able to concentrate completely, Sam swiftly collected a toothbrush and paste, absently noting the presence of a second, barely used brush as he completed the task. Finished, he dampened a cloth and wiped his face before retiring to the bedroom proper.

Crossing to the armchair, Sam slid the shoes off his feet as he unbuttoned the vest about his torso, carefully tucking the chain of the pocket watch into the vest pocket. Setting the vest down, he started on the shirt. Unrolling the sleeves, he neatly unbuttoned it, loosening the tie before gently tugging the shirt from under his belted pants.

He froze. A hard weight had knocked the small of his back.

Trembling slightly, Sam slid his hand around behind him. _Oh, boy!_ Drawing his hand forward, Sam groaned. A semi-automatic, custom cast handgun emblazoned with the word _Torchwood_ had sat in a holster on his person. _Not again!_

"Al! I need you right now!" Sam desperately hoped a verbal request might summon the vibrant colored specter. No luck. Sighing, Sam knew sleep was a long way off now. Rifling through the pants pockets, he pulled out a wallet. Unfolding it, Sam spied what appeared to be an ID. It looked different, not American anyway. _Jones, Ianto Keiran. Born 19/08/83, Wales._ Not good! This was the furthest Sam had traveled from project headquarters. Rifling through the rest of the wallet revealed no further revelations. _Could be why it's taking so long for Al to talk to me. It is the first time we've dealt with information outside our own government._ Shrugging off the tardiness of his Technicolor angel, Sam finished doffing his clothing, satisfied with his own reason for the absence.

Sliding between freshly laundered sheets, Sam breathed deep. _Night, Al. See you in the morning._

TBC

A/N: Gyah! Attack of the crossover bunnies! Trust me there are more, but this is the only one that was insistent. No idea when I might touch on this one again.


	2. Morning MatchUp

Title: Tiptoe Through Torchwood

Author: Grayswandir

Fandom: Torchwood, Quantum Leap

~ JantoLeap ~

An electronic chirping roused Sam from the deepest sleep he had experienced in as long as he could remember. Granted, he couldn't actually remember that much with his swiss-cheesed brain but even he could acknowledge the tranquility the night had brought. _Maybe that was the reason I leapt here: sleep._ Sam chuckled to himself before pulling his head from the pillow and peeling open his eyelids. _That's funny. I could have __**sworn**__ I fell asleep on the other half of this bed._ The smell emanating from the pillow was intoxicating. Shaking himself mentally, Sam turned to silence the alarm clock.

_7:15. That can't be right!_ Sam knew he had fallen asleep sometime after 2, so how was he so refreshed after such a short amount of time? Deactivating the clock, Sam sat up, stretching. Yawning, he looked about, still no sign of Al. _Shower. Then I'll worry._ Slipping out of the bed, Sam went about the morning routine he hoped that Ianto Jones followed, including shaving off the fine grade of facial hair.

Showered, shaved, and still with no sign of his psychedelic poltergeist, Sam sighed, turning to view the closet. It stood chockfull of charcoal gray pinstripes, dark blue suits, and very sharp gem-tone solid dress shirts. _Have to hand it to this guy, he certainly knows how to dress. Hopefully he'll be able to pass some of this knowledge to Al._ Snickering to himself, Sam pulled out what appeared to be the suit next to be worn: a red pinstripe with a magenta shirt. Dressing felt oddly wrong to him, for the first time in known memory. For some reason, he felt as if he was dressing up for someone. Almost like the suit was only there for sexual appeal.

Shaking off the unexpected feelings, Sam finished dressing with a pair of simple cufflinks while pointedly ignoring the elephant in the corner of the room; the gun in the waist holster sitting atop yesterday's suit. _Later._ A quick check of the bathroom mirror led to Sam emptying the pockets of that same suit, transferring them into his current day's attire. "Okay, Al. Anytime now." Sighing at the continued absence of his friendly ghost, Sam fled the bedroom in search of food.

"Oh good, you are up! Thought I'd have to roust you myself." Sam froze as a cheerful voice rose out of the kitchen area. Standing, his back to Sam's current position, was a man roughly the same height as his current body, wearing a white undershirt and pants with yellow striping up the outsides, suspenders hanging down from the waistband. A bare second passed before warm lips pressed to Sam's own, hands wrapped under his jaw pulling him tightly lip to lip.

_Oh, boy!_

The heated pressure and that same intoxicating scent from the pillow case enveloped all of Sam's senses, leading him to closing his eyes and limply dropping his hands onto the hips before him.

_Wow, what a kiss! _Sam thought as the unknown man stepped back. A husky chuckle opened his eyes. Staring into perfect blue eyes, Sam swallowed hard. The intense stare he was currently subject to bore him the thought that he had left the bedroom in naught but his birthday suit. A quirk of a grin lit across full lips as they moved forward, lining up perfectly with the shell of Sam's ear.

"You're gorgeous in pink, too." That voice whispered.

A pleasant shiver ran down his spine. _How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?_ Sam cursed his time travelling companion for his tardiness. Remaining stock still, he waited for the still mystery man to make another move.

The other man pulled back, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Coffee?" He asked. For some unfathomable reason, Sam felt this was a loaded question, but even so he answered in what he felt was the right way.

"Yes, please." Those eyes shifted in a split second to something Sam couldn't quite recognize before a pleasant humor filled them and the man turned back to the kitchen. Sam cursed himself, dreading the repercussions. _He knows something is wrong._ _But how? _Sliding into a seat at the dining table, Sam nearly cried in relief as the white door of the imaging chamber appeared at the opposite end of the room. "Al! What took you so long?" Sam hissed.

"Nice suit, Sam." Al quipped, sending the signal to close the chamber door. The scorching glare he received froze any other such comments. "Sorry. Mr. Jones is quite close lipped about himself and his job. And we never did anticipate leaving the US on these outings. To business: your name is—"

Sam interrupted. "Ianto Jones. I'm in Wales, the year is 2009. And I'm gay."

The smoking cigar in Al's hand nearly slipped to the floor. Clutching it tightly, Al took a shaky puff before he answered. "Okay, that last one was news to me. I don't want to know how you found that out." Smacking the handheld computer, Al cleared his throat. "It is July 23rd, to be precise. You're a civil servant, umm government suit type." The incredulous look on Sam's face brought him to pause. "Something wrong?"

Sam guffawed. "When did a handgun become standard equipment for civil servants?"

Stunned, Al turned back to his remote link to Ziggy, tapping furiously into the handheld. "Since never. Which could explain why none of our inquiries seem to lead us anywhere. As far as any database we have gained access to is concerned, Ianto Jones doesn't exist." Bopping his handheld again, Al growled. "Nada."

Sam groaned, dropping his head to the tabletop. "Any chance you know what I'm doing here?"

Al offered his own incredulous look. "We can't even find out who you are, who you associate with, let alone where you work and what you do. What makes you think we found out why you're here?"

Sam grumbled, turning to face his friend. "Wishful thinking?" He smiled hopefully.

"At least your optimism hasn't waned, Sam." Al smiled back. "No clues yet, you'll have to try and fit in until we do." Further comments were halted as the mystery man crossed into the room, two mugs in hand. A blue button down shirt had been added to his attire, the suspenders fitted over his shoulders. "Is this how you know you're gay?" Al teased, turning to his body leaping friend.

Sam glared at him, before turning to the unnamed man. "Thanks." He murmured, wrapping his hand around the offered mug. Sam watched as the man pulled out his own chair, sipping on the contents of his own mug. Shrugging, Sam joined the man in the beverage. Startled, he dropped the mug to the tabletop. "This isn't coffee."

The man ignored his observation, finishing off his serving before setting down his empty mug. Those perfect blue eyes turned on him, hard, cold, and unforgiving. "How very observant of you. And if you really were _Ianto Jones_ you would be well aware that I am forbidden to touch the coffee maker, here and at work."

Sam started, jumping to his feet. Laughing, on the verge of hysteria, Sam spluttered about. "Why would you think I'm not Ianto Jones?" He stumbled over the pronunciation, unused to the first name. "You caught me off-guard this morning, and I decided to test you, that's all."

Those brilliant blues pinned Sam in place after his tirade. "Are you finished?" Sam nodded, waiting for judgment. A harshness filled his voice, as he asked Sam another question. "I don't appreciate these kinds of games, so you'll have to forgive me for not believing your diatribe. Tell me, what's my name?" Sam swallowed hard, unable to answer and feeling as if the walls were moving in. Anger lit across that lantern jawed face. "No answer? Perhaps you could tell me where we work? Or perhaps I should try something simpler. How do I like my coffee?" The last question ground out between gritted teeth.

Sam took a deep breath, forcing himself to respond. "Strong and black?" He tried hard to make his response sound like a statement, but knew the wilting stare meant he failed. _This is bad! I don't think I can shake him._

The man chuckled, closing his eyes. "Nice try." Taking a frustrated breath, those intense eyes fixed upon Sam again. "Sit down." Sam moved, hearing the command with a silent _or else_ attachment. "Much better." He nodded in approval. "Let's try for some questions you might be able to answer, shall we? I'd like to know who you are and what you did with Ianto."

Al chuckled nervously as he hastened to punch in the door release codes. "Good luck, Sam. I'll work on getting you some answers." The telltale tone of a failed override command issued from the handheld. Al smacked the computer and started inputting the authorizations once more.

"Don't bother." The mystery man growled out. He turned, pinning Al to his spot. "You're going nowhere until I'm satisfied."

TBC


	3. Have A Name?

Title: Tiptoe Through Torchwood  
Author: Grayswandir  
Fandom: Torchwood, Quantum Leap

~ JantoLeap ~

Al stood stationary. He and Sam stared at the mysterious man. "Cute trick. But I'm not buying your psychic fever." Renewing his efforts at opening the imaging chamber door, Al nearly cursed as he continued to receive error messages. "Gooshie! Open the door!"

"When I said sit down, I meant both of you." The still unidentified man growled out, tension mounting in his shoulder muscles. Al ignored the renewed command, still tapping furiously, angered by Gooshie's failure to comply. The unknown man sighed, standing and rounding the table, pulling a chair out next to Al. "Stop what you're doing and sit down!" He snapped.

Al laughed. "I'd love to see you make me." He smirked, before a pair of strong hands wrapped about his shoulders directing him into the pulled out chair. In shock, Al and Sam stared at the still unknown man. Al's mouth opened and shut several times before he finally struck together a few carefully constructed words. "How did you—? I—. You shouldn't have been able to touch me at all. I'm a—."

The man, smirking as he passed around the table to sit at his previously abandoned seat, interrupted him. "—a neurological hologram centered on the brainwave activity of the imposter?" Twin guppy faces greeted the mystery man. Propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on the back of his folded hands, he quirked a brow. "Oh, and by the way, Ianto isn't gay."

"Then why did you kiss me?" Sam wanted to know. This leap had already hit the most confusing mark and he had only interacted with someone for the last five minutes.

"We dabble." The expression on the man's face revealed to Sam that it was not that simple, but it was a partial truth and allowing him the safety of that lie would offer no harm. _At least all this leaping has given me some insight into the human condition._ "But I'm not the one answering questions. You are."

Silence permeated the atmosphere. Al refused to answer any questions, his confusion over the events that had occurred during this still fresh leap had him reeling to no end. Sam was concerned about the consequences of the letting this stranger know any more than he already did, that and his rather spotty memory processes were ill equipped to respond properly at the best of times.

Growling, the stranger sundered the air with his angered voice. "Silent tongues? English not your preferred language? Parlez-vous français? Spreekt u Nederlands? ¿Hablas español? Ĉu vi parolas Esperanton? Loquerisne Latine?" A sarcastic intonation colored his questions. "You both seemed comfortable with the English language, but if there is another we can go to that one, yeah? Here's the new deal: I'll tell _you_ what I already understand of your story, and you fill in the blanks." Weary nods lead to the mystery man focusing on Sam's features, looking as though he were searching for some tell that would show that Ianto was still present.

He must not have located his quarry for he plowed fiercely into his own observations. "The person who inhabits Ianto's body is named Sam. He doesn't seem to know why he is here and jumps to some not entirely off-base conclusions, which means that he has been doing whatever this is for some time; likely at least two years, but no more than four." Those piercing blue eyes shifted from inspecting Sam to Al. "The fashion challenged hologram is named Al. Based on the technology in his hands and the travel method, I'd venture that the two of you are time travelers, short term, perhaps a year, two, ahead of the current date; assuming that the technology is cutting edge, research release only. How am I doing so far?" He smirked at the two gob-smacked faces.

"Surprisingly well." Al mused, setting his link to Ziggy onto the table. He could get use to the idea of interacting in the same environment as Sam. Taking a hard puff from his stogie, Al rubbed his brow, feeling a headache coming. "You have a name? Or should we call you 'jackass'?"

The stranger huffed out a short laugh. "Captain Jack Harkness." A demonic light entered Al's eyes as he starting jabbing away at the handheld. Jack snorted, falling back in his chair and closing his eyes. "Won't work until I release the lock." The damning sound of yet another error tone dinged from the device.

Al groaned, thrusting the device at the table. "Sam, I can't even send a search subroutine through. Whatever he did is overriding all access protocols."

Jack sighed. "Y'know, I regularly get accused of not following social norms, but last I checked when someone offers a name, protocol mandates it be reciprocated."

Al smirked at the Captain. "Admiral Albert Calavicci. I outrank you, kid." Jack just shrugged.

Sam frowned, certain that whoever this Jack person was, baiting him like Al had done, was not a good idea. "Dr. Samuel Beckett. Tell me, Mr. Harkness—."

Jack interrupted. "Jack, please."

"Jack," Sam restarted. "How," he swallowed. "How are you keeping Al here, and blocking his connection to Ziggy?"

Jack laughed. "Odd. I thought the first question was going to be 'What gave me away?' but no matter. To answer: you are using early 21st Century, Earth-based technology. Overriding that level of tech is child's play with this gorgeous piece of equipment, even in its current state." He patted a heavy leather banded item strapped to his left wrist. Clearing his throat, Jack continued. "That's one, now for an answer from you: Where is Ianto?"

"The Waiting Room, Project Headquarters." Al answered, eager to get his question in. "How can you see me, touch me? Sam, children, animals, they're the only ones who can see me, so why you?"

Jack frowned at the odd question. "Seeing you is not that hard. All it takes is basic psychic training. In all of your planning, you've never encountered such a possibility?" Both shook their heads. "How odd. And touch: cheap trick. When I blocked your access I boosted the output signal at this end. My turn: Why are you here?"

Sam grimaced, afraid of Jack's reaction. "We're not sure." A harsh look had Sam jumping into further explanation. "We're still looking into it, gathering information."

Jack groaned, slapping a hand against his forehead. "Wonderful. Amateurs. Let me guess: your endeavors are purely altruistic and you're trying to 'set right what once went wrong'."

Sam beamed. "Exactly! You see I theorized that someone could travel within their own timeline, but they threatened to cut my funding when it was nearing its—."

"Stop!" Jack threw his hands up, his face taking on a ghostly pallor. Taking a deep breath, he nearly whispered out his next statement. "Project Quantum Leap?"

TBC

A/N: I swear this was never suppose to take over my muses, honest!


	4. Jack, the Nozzle

Title: Tiptoe Through Torchwood  
Author: Grayswandir  
Fandom: Torchwood, Quantum Leap

A/N: I realize that in season 4 of QL a precise date was given for when the project was active (1999), however as this seems unlikely to have been possible I have moved them forward a bit more than a decade. As it is, canon timeframe for QL is pre-simu-leap incident/evil leaper and current TW is between series 2 and CoE.

~ JantoLeap ~

_"Stop!" Jack threw his hands up, his face taking on a ghostly pallor. Taking a deep breath, he nearly whispered out his next statement. "Project Quantum Leap?"_

Al's hand immediately flew to his forehead before sliding up and back to rest scratching at the base of his skull. "Exactly how do you know the name of the project?" Al grimaced at the croaking tone he had spoken in.

A rumbling growl issued from Jack as he rested his cheek against a closed fist, propped atop the table. "I'm the director of a super-secret agency that monitors a rift in time and space and collects the debris it leaves behind, including misplaced humans and aliens. Why wouldn't I know the name of a project that is attempting to lead the human race into the future through experimentation in time travel?"

Sam stared at Jack, incredulousness written across his face. "Ahh!"

Al's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Aliens?" Vexed at the matter-of-fact expression on the Captain's face, Al turned to Sam. "Don't listen to this nozzle, Sam! He's spinning a yarn." But Sam hadn't turned to face Al; he was still staring at Jack.

"Do you think I'm lying to you?" Jack asked, solemnity exuding from his form. The shadows that danced in his eyes were varied in size and weight, but the truthful vibe still shown.

"No. I don't," Sam replied. "I believe him, Al."

"Fine!" Al huffed, throwing his hands skyward. "If you know so much about the project, you should be able to help us."

"No," Jack whispered vehemently.

"And why not?" Al fumed back, frustrated at the lack of any useable information, still not convinced by the Captain's story.

"I'm part of events. One of the few immutable rules of time travel is that you do not mess with your own personal timeline," Jack sighed. "Leads to reapers, and angry Time Lords."

"Time Lords?" Sam asked, skeptically.

Jack grinned. "Used to be a species, now it's just the one. Tall, skinny bloke in a pinstripe suit and Converses. Travels in a blue police box." Smiling wistfully, he continued. "I miss the big ears and northern accent. He was so much more fun to flirt with then."

Al snorted, near choking on his own saliva. "You flirt with aliens?" Jack nodded, winking lasciviously. Swallowing, trying to suppress his imagination, Al plunged onward. "How do you overcome the differences between…?" He stopped, unable to finish the thought.

Jack sighed, shaking his head. "You people and your quaint little categories." A beep issued from Jack's left wrist. Flipping open his ever-present wrist strap, he smirked. "Took your people long enough to respond, _Admiral_." A quick press of buttons on Jack's behalf, lead to a flurry of movement on Al's part.

Yelping, Al fell to the floor, followed by the furious litany of beeps from the hand link as it too impacted with the floor. Al stood up, rubbing his backside. "Little warning?"

Jack smirked. "Gravity in naught point five? Well. Negative thirty now."

Sam shook with suppressed laughter as Al glared. Calming, Sam cleared his throat. "So. Assuming what you say is true, Jack, about this agency you head, and I venture it would be the same organization Ianto works for, and most likely the reason Al cannot find him in the system, how are we supposed to set things right without information?"

Jack smiled focusing on Sam, moaning slightly. "Such a gorgeous mind. Beautiful." Clicking his tongue, Jack turned to face Al. "I suggest you have Ianto help you."

"Brilliant! How would we ever do this without your genius?" Al growled sarcastically, bending down through the table to retrieve the handheld. He straightened. "We already tried that! Your Mr. Jones is extremely tight lipped."

"Then you'll have to provide him with incentive," Jack sighed, tugging his shirt sleeves tightly to his wrists. "We work with one other person, Gwen Cooper. She's a former police constable so it won't be hard to track her down. You can try looking for the organization. It's a longshot, but you might get lucky."

Tapping furiously at the re-activated handheld, Al frowned. "And the name of this organization is?"

"Torchwood," Sam answered. Al and Jack both turned to face him. Fighting a wince, Sam continued. "Am I right? That's what's written on the side of that handgun and I've never heard of that brand before."

Jack laughed. "Absolutely beautiful." Reaching over, Jack pulled Sam to him, smacking a kiss to his temple before releasing him.

The sound of the chamber door opening interrupted any further conversations. "I'm fine, Gooshie, false alarm," Al growled tersely.

"Go on, Al," Sam groaned. "You've got some information to gather." Peevishly, Al did as his friend bade, the imaging chamber door clanging shut after him. Turning back to face the Captain, Sam cocked his head, worrying his lip slightly. "What happens now?"

"Well," Jack sighed. "Best we get a move on. We wait much longer and Gwen will beat us to the Hub. That happens and you'll have to look significantly ruffled." He chuckled as he looked at Sam. "Now, you go collect your gun and that gorgeous dark red tie from the bedroom."

Sam groaned, looking down at his wardrobe error, a complete lack of a tie. "Is that what gave me away?" Stepping away from the table to fetch the requested items, he heard that melodious chuckle follow him.

"That alone? No. Ianto does, sometimes, enjoy forcing me to add the finishing touches. _Always_ the quiet ones." A wistful gleam entered the Captain's eyes as he thought on previous mornings.

Seeing that gleam still present when he returned, Sam groaned. "I _really_ don't want to know." Jack laughed, standing up. "Actually, there is something I want to know." Those brilliant blues rounded on Sam. "What gave me away?"

Jack stepped swiftly into Sam's personal space, grasping his jaw. "Ianto would have responded to my tease about pink. Either an eye roll, or corrected me on the specific color. Or both." Stepping away from the leaper, Jack collected the mugs, taking them to the kitchen where the sound of the tap turning on and off briefly followed before returning to Sam's sight. "We'll have to pick up breakfast on the way," he commented as he picked up a gun holster, attaching it to his belt on the right.

Sam bit his lip as he saw the Captain shrug on a vintage grey-blue military trench coat. _Small favors Al isn't here to comment._ "And when did you time travel from?" he couldn't help but jest.

Jack grinned, throwing a black trench coat at Sam before walking to the front door. "The fifty-first century."

TBC


End file.
